Unexpected
by KarmaBean
Summary: An AU (alternate universe) story revolving around Tristan and Rory. There's a bet and a target in sight. But as in many cases, things just aren't as they seem.
1. Chapter One: Hypothesis and Experimentat...

Author's Note: This is an AU. It's a foray in a different direction, and hopefully, it won't be too horrible.  
  
Chapter One: Hypothesis and Experimentation  
  
"You should be glad you're rid of her, she was nothing but a gold digger anyway," Paris Gellar said definitively before throwing back a double shot of tequila. She sucked furiously on a lemon wedge and gingerly dropped into the shot glass. "Even you knew it from the beginning."  
  
Tristan DuGrey refused to say anything to his friend's comment, only continued to brew as he took a long pull on his Dos Equis. Although he paid attention to her words, his eyes remained fixed on his surroundings in the loud Mexican restaurant. Or rather, to be specific, the people. He'd long ago learned to fade out the garishly bright posters, the banners with various brands of cerveza, and strings of chili pepper lights. He didn't even glance at the postcards of exotic locales and t-shirts that were tacked to the wall behind the bar, or think about the endless supply of freshly-made tortilla chips crunching under his feet as he crossed the hardwood floor. He'd even learned to tune out the never-ending flow of loud salsa music.  
  
It was the people that he liked to watch. And tonight, they were in fine form, though moving seemingly in slow motion. It was taking people forever to get a forkful of black beans into their mouths, even longer to take a bite out of their crispy flautas. The waiters weren't coming in from their smoking break as covertly as usual. And even the bartender was sauntering rather than rushing from one end of the counter to the other.  
  
Was there something wrong with his eyes?  
  
"Of course he knows. Every woman that ever comes within ten feet of this jerk knows how much he's worth. They can't help but want to get into his pants and his pocketbook," Jess Mariano said with a smirk. He lifted his own beer in toast. "Isn't that right, DuGrey?"  
  
"Shut up, Jess," Paris snapped. "That's not true."  
  
"Don't worry about it, Paris. Even I know he's right," Tristan sighed, joining the conversation. "It's not as though a single one of my ex- girlfriends hasn't admitted that she's attracted to my money."  
  
"Surely you didn't think it was your dashing good looks and stellar intelligence," Jess chuckled.  
  
Tristan smiled thinly. "And you're in a position to talk, Mariano?"  
  
Jess shook his head. "Ah, but I am. Sure, we're in the same predicament, but alas, I have not the weaknesses of the flesh as you, my friend. That is not to say that I don't readily welcome attempts by any hot, young, or mature woman—let it never be said that I don't appreciate experience…"  
  
"I'm sure none of us has forgotten the Marcia Foster debacle just yet," Jen quipped.  
  
Marcia Foster was the seemingly Stepford wife of a filthy rich investment banker. She didn't work, but spent her days watching the kids, baking, gardening, and even had a talent for quilting. She was an active member of the PTA and often volunteered to head fundraisers.  
  
Unlike most of the women that circulated in Boston's upper crust society, she had never been known to have any indiscretions. Not for lack of trying on the part of the more lecherous men. Marcia was indeed quite beautiful and possessed of a natural allure that most found irresistible. Yes, many had tried, and all had failed.  
  
Jess, being the man that he was, had taken this as a challenge; he had a vice for challenges. Using all the charms that were at his disposal, he managed to seduce the poor woman. She, being of romantic mind, fancied herself in love with him. And she told him so, only to have her heart broken by the thoughtless, but gorgeous, cad who thought of her merely as a distraction.  
  
It was not long after that that Jess severed their relationship. He thought he'd gotten away scot-free, but it was not to be so. It turned out that Simon Foster, her husband, had learned the details either from another close friend or maybe it was even Marcia herself. In any event, he came after Jess looking for a fight to defend his honor, which really was quite foolish of him. Simon walked away with a bad limp and a broken nose and cut lip. Luckily for everyone involved, Simon made no more such attempts, and the affair proved to be only enough fodder for two weeks in the gossip mill. It wasn't all that extraordinary, after all.  
  
Jess shot her a smug look. "Just because you've never gotten a little Mariano lovin' doesn't mean you have to get testy, Paris," he said with a raised brow. "As I was saying, I welcome any able body who wants to try to sink their claws into me. The operable word being 'try.' I see no sense in turning away a fine piece of ass."  
  
"Call me an idiot if you must," Tristan said with a thin smile. "But I happen to like to entertain the idea of finding someone who doesn't just want me for my money."  
  
"And who's to say that you won't?" Paris asked, laying a comforting hand over his. "Not every woman if after you for that. Don't listen to this jackass. He's Jess. He knows nothing," she said, only sparing a moment to send a sharp look in his direction.  
  
"Can you honestly say he's wrong?" Tristan asked with a bitter laugh.  
  
Paris groaned. "Oh, fuck you both. I've had enough of this," she said, throwing up her hands. Her entire expression changed as she released Tristan's hand and settle back into her chair. "I'm trying to be nice about it, but honestly, I don't care one way or another. You're just annoying me with your wallowing. This is fucking depressing."  
  
"Meow," Jess muttered.  
  
"Every other week one of you comes in whining about the latest trophy-wife wannabe who you've had to dump either because she was getting too clingy or she wasn't living up to your expectations. Well screw you both. Unless you look for a woman in Outer Mongolia, you're not going to find many women who don't know who you are. So suck it up and have fun for a change."  
  
Paris let out a low, suffering breath at the end of her tirade, which had earned shared astonished gazes from both of them. Her brown eyes settled on both of them as she lifted a sculpted brow, daring either of them to challenge her words.  
  
Jess merely laughed as he reached into his back pocket and pulled out his black leather wallet. He reached in and drew out two hundred dollars bills, slipping them discreetly into Tristan's palm. The other man in turn nodded with a small smile and pocketed the money without a word.  
  
"What the hell was that?" Paris asked angrily.  
  
Tristan shrugged. "We just had a small bet over if you'd ever bitch us out for being so annoying and whining to you about our love lives on almost a weekly basis. Jess here," Tristan said, gesturing, "was foolish enough to think that you never would. For some reason, after knowing you for ten years, the man thinks that your resolve to spare us would hold out until New Year's." Tristan shook his head. "It was a sucker's bet."  
  
Paris turned her glare on Jess. "What are insane? Me hold my tongue? What, were you on something when you took the bet?"  
  
"Perhaps I was in the mood to lose two-hundred dollars to DuGrey," he said with an incorrigible grin.  
  
"Yeah, maybe," Tristan commented, chuckling genuinely for the first time that night.  
  
As he contemplated how ridiculous the whole bet was, his eyes stopped on a woman sitting alone at the bar. She wasn't astonishing by any means; certainly the women that frequented his company were the crème de la crème of society, beautiful to the point of absurdity. He was used to statuesque enchantresses draped in the finest clothes. So there was nothing special about the brunette with the luminous blue eyes.  
  
No, there was nothing special, but Tristan watched her anyway, unable to tear his eyes away. They slowly trailed up her long legs, from the burgundy- enameled toes, past the leather sandals, up the long stems of brown suede clad legs that were crossed, and lingered a moment at her delicate hands. Was that a tattoo around her wrist?  
  
With an imperceptible shake of his head he continued his visual journey. His eyes quickly swept up over the white peasant blouse, only briefly entertaining the idea that he could see straight through it to…a leopard print bra? Surely not. But then there was the telltale strap peeking out near the generous neckline on her pale shoulder.  
  
Interesting, he thought, before letting himself take in her face. He found it odd that she didn't seem to have any makeup except around her eyes. But then again, was it possible that her lips were that pink and delectable? Were her lashes that long without the aid of some terribly dangerous- looking wand covered in black mascara? Probably not.  
  
*Wouldn't you like to know?*  
  
Tristan's brows creased. The pesky devil that parked its bottom on his shoulder was speaking without provocation again. Despite interrupting his thoughts, Tristan had to admit the old fellow was right. He did want to go up to the woman, even though he wasn't interested in her in the least. Nope. Not at all. She was just ordinary after all. Though he did have this niggling desire to take down the hair she had gathered up in an elastic band on top of her head, and see how it would feel to run his fingers through it.  
  
It had to feel good, he decided. But how good?  
  
"Earth to Tristan," Paris said, snapping her fingers in front of his eyes.  
  
"Hmm?" he asked, turning his attention back to his friends.  
  
Paris didn't answer right away, instead she turned her head and spied the woman he was just staring at moments ago. With a sly smile she turned to Tristan and bite down on her lip. "Already looking for another bedmate?"  
  
"Hardly," he replied with a little chuckle.  
  
"Well now, this is most intriguing," Jess said, craning his neck to catch a glimpse of her face, which was now turned towards the bar. "Don't know what her face looks like, but her body does seem to have some possibilities."  
  
Tristan shook his head. "Stop it. I'm not looking, scooping, or checking her out," he sighed, picking up his beer. "Can we just get back to what we were talking about before this detour?"  
  
"Sure," Paris said, clearing her throat. "Do you even know what Jess and I were discussing?"  
  
He gulped hard before taking the bottle away and licking his lips. "Okay, you got me. I don't."  
  
"Hmm. Thought not."  
  
"If you had been listening, you would have heard us arguing further about your love life. Yes, this is how far our conversation has fallen. Gellar here seems to think, like you, that is it possible for someone to love you for something other than your money. While I, just to play devil's advocate, chose the opposite position. And I'm not going to tell you my real opinion on this matter," Jess said with an amused smile.  
  
"Is that all?" Tristan asked, looking suspicious.  
  
"Just about, and really, you see, there's no way to continue this conversation because we'll just keep going around in circles. There's no way to prove our theories one way or the other until you have another love interest," Paris concluded.  
  
Jess darted his eyes over to the brunette. "Actually, I'm going to have to disagree."  
  
Tristan raised an eyebrow as he looked at Paris who had her eyes fixated on Jess.  
  
"Pray tell," she murmured.  
  
"DuGrey, you've always been a sporting man, haven't you?" Jess asked, leaning forward as he rested his forearms on the table.  
  
"I'd like to think so. Let it never be said that I don't like a good game," he replied smoothly.  
  
"So to say that you enjoy a bet, a venture—it wouldn't be too far off the mark."  
  
Tristan chuckled. "Get to the point, Mariano."  
  
"How's about we put your theory to the test? See if you two are right, or if I am," Jess offered.  
  
"Like Paris said, there's no way to prove anything unless I have a girlfriend. What do you propose I do, go out and get one?" he asked, disbelieving, yet smiling.  
  
"Exactly. I propose that we find a female, preferably one that doesn't know who you are. You can give yourself an alias and probably misrepresent yourself as impoverish or maybe a little bit above that. And we'll keep tabs to see your progress with her. Will she fall for you despite your lack of extensive funds? Would you fare better with her if she knew you were worth millions? The possibilities and questions to be answered are endless.  
  
"But the ultimate point is, she'll be our means to proving or disproving the theory," Jess said with a slight grin.  
  
"No way. That's not only stupid, but potentially dangerous and cruel," Paris contended. She turned to Tristan. "Tristan, say something."  
  
But he couldn't. He had to think. Because as dangerous as the bet had potential to be, it was something he wanted to do. It was more than human curiosity. It was a means to answering one of the questions he had desperately wanted answered. Did that make him a bad person?  
  
"What are the terms?"  
  
"God, he's lost his mind," Paris muttered.  
  
Jess laughed softly. He didn't think that Tristan would take him seriously, and he wouldn't have pushed to see it through, but Jess was never one to let an opportunity for amusement pass.  
  
"There's no time limit, but there must be a definitive conclusion. She either loves the poor man otherwise known as Tristan DuGrey or not. It doesn't matter how you go about it. I've never doubted your creativity, so I hope you come up with some good things."  
  
"This is insane," Paris said, retreating into her portion of the circular booth.  
  
"Okay. And the stakes?"  
  
"Fifty thousand," Paris interjected. They both looked at her curiously. "Hey, if you're going to be jackasses, at least make the bet interesting with high stakes."  
  
"The woman does have a point. Fifty then, Jess?" Tristan asked. When the other man nodded, he glanced over at Paris. "I'll assume that you want no part in this?"  
  
"So as not to betray my gender, I'll not take part in the bet, nor will I say that I condone the behavior. So I'll stay out, thank you," she sighed. "But I'll say this, as your friend, I can't help but be intrigued at the notion. However, I'll also ask you to rethink this. As much as I'm rooting for you in this bet, Tristan, I'm afraid you won't be happy with the outcome."  
  
"It's just a game, Gellar. No one's going to get hurt over this," Tristan said, lacking conviction in his voice.  
  
"Famous last words," she mumbled.  
  
Jess reached over and shook Tristan's hand. "It seems we have a new bet then."  
  
"Absolutely," Tristan agreed. "Just one thing, how will we go about finding this woman?"  
  
"Would you object to me choosing someone for you?" Jess asked cautiously.  
  
Tristan answered without hesitation. "By all means, please."  
  
A slow grin spread across Jess's face.  
  
And then the slow motion began again. Tristan watched as his friend lifted his hand in excruciating slowness and pointed at the decidedly ordinary brunette. "Her." 


	2. Chapter Two: The Consequences of Neglect...

Author's Note: I speak of something called 'Asian Mother Syndrome' in this chapter. I don't know who's reading or whom my blathering might upset. I'm just using my own dear mother as a gauge. Though I shouldn't mock it, because I fear it will be my fate one day. Gah.  
  
*  
  
Chapter Two: The Consequences of Neglecting Laundry…  
  
*  
  
Tristan couldn't decide if Jess's choice was a blessing or damnation. He gave his friend a hard stare before returning his gaze to the woman.  
  
She was still on the same barstool, lazily stirring her drink with what looked like a maraschino cherry. Her head was tilted at such an angle that suggested how bored she was with the atmosphere, with sitting there alone with nothing to keep her company but her drink.  
  
A renegade curl worked its way loose and was now hanging temptingly over her left eye. As she lifted her fingers to tuck the curl behind her ear, she raised her head and haughtily scanned the front door, letting her gaze linger briefly before sweeping across the room, no doubt to check the door leading to the patio, just in case whoever she was waiting for came in from there. Oh yes, she was definitely waiting for someone, he decided. And he was insanely curious as to what manner of person would make this woman wait.  
  
He looked up again to check her progress, and was surprised to see her looking right at him. His ordinary brunette was checking him out critically. Her eyes narrowed slightly in her appraisal. Did she like what she saw? Before he could even smile and try to make a connection, she raised a brow and looked towards the back door.  
  
She had dismissed him.  
  
That was it. Blessing and damnation. Blessing because he realized he would have had to approach her anyway after that cold rejection. Damnation because she was obviously not going to be an easy person to win over. She was going to be a challenge.  
  
Dear Lord.  
  
Not unlike Jess, Tristan lived for challenges. He'd had a lifetime of easy successes; he didn't have to try at school at get straight A's; he was a natural at athletics; he had the Midas touch with investments, no one could say his place in the DuGrey empire was undeserved; and needless to say, he never wanted for female companionship. With things coming far too easily to him, it was an intrinsic reaction that he should enjoy challenges. Really, what was life without them?  
  
"Are you sure you want to do this?" he asked calmly, unwilling to betray any true feelings.  
  
Jess gave him a crooked smile. "Worried you'll lose?"  
  
"Please; I just want to give you a chance to pick someone else, someone who stands a chance," Tristan said, draining his beer. "A last out."  
  
Jess shook his head disapprovingly, and then looked at Paris. "Does he know me at all? It's like we never went to Yale or were roommates for four years…"  
  
Tristan rolled his eyes. "You're such a drama queen."  
  
"Could you two hurry this along so I can finish my meal in peace?" asked Paris. "You're boring me."  
  
"You can be such a bitch some times, Paris," Jess sighed before turning to Tristan. "I'm sure. It's the brunette."  
  
"All right, it's your money," he said, then stood up.  
  
"Wait. You're going over now?" asked Paris.  
  
Tristan held up his beer bottle. "I'm just getting a refill," he smiled before walking towards the bar.  
  
Jess quirked a brow. "He could have at least asked if we wanted anything."  
  
Paris glared at him. "I can't believe you just did that."  
  
"What are you talking about?"  
  
"You know, sometimes you two can be so childish I don't know why I'm even friends with you. It's not like you provide me with any intellectual stimulation. In fact the more time I spend with you two, the dumber I get. I think my IQ has dropped ten points since college," she said, her eyes wide as she gestured with great animation.  
  
"Blah, blah, blah. When was the last time you got laid?" he asked, suddenly very curious.  
  
Paris looked shocked. "What?"  
  
He shrugged. "This bitterness of yours is coming from somewhere. It's not your time of the month, so I figure it's because you're sexually frustrated. Who was the last guy? It wasn't J.B. Sloan, was it?"  
  
"Why do you know my menstrual cycle? Wait. I don't want to know. And is that all you think about? Sex?" she asked, her face flush. "Why am I even asking? Of course that's all you think about, you ignorant Neander…"  
  
Before Paris could finish her sentence, Jess reached over and curled his fingers behind her neck and silenced her with a kiss. She was so shocked she didn't even think to push him away until much too late. She'd already responded to the kiss in equal measure, reveling in the sensation of his soft lips sweeping over hers. Paris had gotten her first taste of him, and she began to fear that it was only the beginning of something terribly wrong.  
  
She wiped her lips with the back of her hand, most unladylike for the normally proper former debutante.  
  
Jess smirked. "You were giving me a headache. I had to shut you up, and that seemed like the best idea at the time."  
  
"You need serious help," she said, narrowing her eyes.  
  
"You know you liked it."  
  
"Did not."  
  
He sighed. "Your tongue was in my mouth."  
  
Paris blushed again. "It was an accident."  
  
"Sure. Whatever gets you through the night, sweetheart," he chuckled, purposely trying to rile her. But all she could muster was a growl before losing all verbal skills and stabbing at her Chicken Poblano.  
  
*  
  
She told one guy to get bent. She asked another if he'd spent all day thinking up his spectacular pick up line. She asked yet another if he'd actually read Shakespeare or only memorized lines that he thought would make women swoon. He beat a hasty retreat, not unlike all the others.  
  
Rory Gilmore didn't understand what was going on. Men normally left her alone. She'd always been told that she looked intimidating, cold, unapproachable, and scary even. And she liked it that way. But obviously, the men in the restaurant hadn't gotten the memo.  
  
Before she could think about this too long, she felt someone tapping on her shoulder. Rory didn't even get a chance to turn around and look at the latest idiot when she felt a hand hitting her bottom and a husky voice saying, "Hey Baby-cakes, what's a sexy lady like you doing in a place like this?"  
  
Lane Kim, her best friend and general practitioner at large, had just hit on her.  
  
Rory turned her disbelieving gaze on the petite doctor. "I can't believe you just touched my ass."  
  
She winked as she slid onto the unoccupied stool beside Rory. "What's a little love pat between friends?" Lane asked with a wink and a bright grin.  
  
"Nothing," Rory said. She lean forward and caressed Lane's upper arm, looking at her with sleepy eyes. This drew a good number of looks from the hopeful men around them. "You don't think Henry would mind, would he?"  
  
Lane shrugged with one shoulder. "He's always wanted to try something new. Experimentation could be the next step in our relationship."  
  
The guy behind Rory choked on his beer. It was good enough to make them both laugh.  
  
"Do we have a table, we eating at the bar, or are we going somewhere else?" asked Lane, deciding to end their teasing.  
  
"Eat at the bar? You know my grandmother once told me only hookers eat at the bar," Rory shared, earning a disapproving shake from her friend.  
  
"That's just wrong. That's something my mother would say."  
  
"Yikes, we wouldn't want that, now would we?" asked Rory. "Anyway, I put us on the list; it shouldn't take much longer."  
  
"Good, because I'm starving, and I can't emphasize that enough," Lane groaned.  
  
Rory frowned. "Hey, what's wrong?"  
  
Lane waved her hand. "Nothing. I just had a small fight with Henry today."  
  
"Yeesh. Feeling neglected again?"  
  
Lane groaned. "You know I love him, but sometimes he's so aggravating, I could kill him. It's like we never had the talk about how we need to focus on our respective careers right now," she said, her hand on Rory's arm. "He keeps on telling me he understands that I work eighteen hour shifts and barely have time to sleep, but I don't think he really does. Am I being selfish? I mean, am I being irrational in thinking he should be patient with me?"  
  
"No, you're not being selfish. It's not your fault you want a career. But."  
  
"But?"  
  
"But, if I had a girlfriend as awesome as you, I'd be upset too."  
  
"I don't need to hear that! Now I'm going 'aww' on the inside, and I feel all guilty again," Lane said, frowning.  
  
"You'll work it out. Because you two need to be my token stable married couple. I don't have one right now, and who better that two of the best young doctors in Boston? You're going to have such crazy children."  
  
"There is to be no children talk. You sound like my mother. You know, she's been laying it on pretty thick with the 'I won't live to see my first grandchild' talk. It's like her joy over me being a doctor lasted her half a second before she started on the procreation guilt trips."  
  
"I'm sorry."  
  
"Asian mother syndrome. It can't be helped."  
  
"No it can't."  
  
"You're not supposed to agree," Lane pouted.  
  
"Hey, I have a Lorelai as a mother. That could be worse than Asian mother syndrome," Rory pointed out.  
  
Lane guffawed. "I'm sorry, there's nothing worse. You are wrong."  
  
"Okay, I concede. But only because I'm hungry and am feeling slightly buzzed by my drink as a consequence of said hunger," she said defensively. "Otherwise, you can be sure I'd put up an argument that even Clarence Darrow would be in awe of."  
  
"I'm sure you would have," her friend agreed, giggling.  
  
Rory rolled her eyes. "A good friend would have at least tried to keep a straight face."  
  
Lane shook her head. "I've known you way too long to still extend that courtesy."  
  
"You're terrible," Rory decided. "Let's talk about something else."  
  
"Okay, I've been meaning to ask you this since I sat down. What's up with the animal print bra under a see-through shirt?" she asked with an amused expression. "Rory Gilmore, are you finally taking my advice and making an effort to find a man?"  
  
Rory glared at her friend. "No. I need to do laundry; this was the only one I had left. And I figured it would be preferable to wear something as opposed to coming here swinging free."  
  
Lane burst out laughing.  
  
"Mean."  
  
"I'm sorry," said Lane. She clutched her stomach with one hand and lifted the other in front of Rory. "I can't believe you just said 'swinging free.' It's too much."  
  
"Some friend you are."  
  
Lane sat up straight and exhaled calmly, closing her eyes so she could picture something utterly terrible, like limping puppies or U2 breaking up, anything to stop her from laughing. She made a show of taking deep breaths and shaking her head.  
  
There. Better, she thought. Then, as Lane opened her eyes, she inadvertently looked directly into those of a bona fide hottie. A quick perusal gleaned sharp blue eyes, a sexy smirk and a tight body—at least from what she could see. He was the kind of guy who looked good, and knew it.  
  
Before she could embarrass herself any further by checking him out, the man walked away, beer in hand, to a table where a bickering couple was sitting. As soon as he sat down, they stopped, and turned their attentions towards their drinks. Hmm.  
  
"Lane, earth to Lane," Rory said, snapping her fingers in front of her friend's eyes.  
  
"Huh? What? I'm here," she said, bringing her eyes back to Rory.  
  
Rory followed her previous line of vision to the table. "You were checking those guys out," she said point blank. She turned to her friend, and dared her to deny it. "Weren't you?"  
  
"It would be sacrilege not to; the man is beautiful."  
  
"Henry."  
  
"Looking, not touching."  
  
"Pretty man."  
  
"You're giving him too much credit."  
  
Lane smiled. "What am I missing? Do you have something against this guy?"  
  
"I don't know," Rory said, wrinkling her brow. "He seems familiar, but I don't know where I've seen him. It was bothering me before you came in."  
  
"College?"  
  
"Unlikely."  
  
"Maybe he's been in the café before?" Lane speculated. "You do get a lot of traffic through there."  
  
"Maybe," Rory said. "It doesn't matter. He's nothing."  
  
"Ouch. All this, and you haven't even talked yet."  
  
"There will be no talking," Rory countered.  
  
"I think you should go over there. I mean, you're already wearing the leopard print bra, why not make good use of it?" asked Lane, grinning wickedly.  
  
"I'm telling Henry you used to listen to Ricky Martin."  
  
Suddenly Lane was stone-faced. "You wouldn't."  
  
"If push came to shove…"  
  
"I'm sorry, are you Rory?" asked the hostess, cutting in on their conversation.  
  
"Yes."  
  
"If you'll please follow me, your table is ready," said the girl amiably.  
  
"Great," Rory smiled, before hopping off her stool and looking back at Lane and sticking out her tongue.  
  
Lane grumbled, grabbing onto Rory's hand and weaving through the tables. "You'd sell your own mother for the right price, wouldn't you?"  
  
Rory winked. "Bidding opens up at ten dollars."  
  
*  
  
Jess shot him a look. "Back so soon?"  
  
"Upset I cut your fight with Paris short?" Tristan asked.  
  
"No, I just expected you to make a move, not stand around like an idiot and eavesdrop on her conversation with her friend."  
  
"You wound me," he said dryly.  
  
"What, no snappy comeback?" asked Jess.  
  
Tristan sighed, dropping a couple bills on the table. "I don't have the energy to argue with you anymore tonight. I'm tired, and unlike some people, I have a job to get up for in the morning."  
  
Jess raised a brow. "Touché," he said, putting some money on the table.  
  
"Enough with the personal insults. Let's just get out of here, shall we?" asked a snappy Paris.  
  
Without waiting for a reply from either of them, Paris slipped out of the booth and flew out of the restaurant. The two men stood side by side, watching her go.  
  
Then Tristan turned to his friend. "What happened between you two?"  
  
Jess shook his head, a smile on his lips. "I have no idea what you're talking about," he said before strolling away.  
  
Tristan knew without a doubt that there was something up with his two friends. They'd always been high-strung around one another, but he'd always attributed that to the sexual tension between them.  
  
His eyes darted up to the two women following a hostess up the stairs, but they locked on only one. The one with the dark hair that he wanted to touch. The one who would most likely be doing laundry tomorrow.  
  
Rory Gilmore. The name seemed so familiar, yet he could not put his finger on how or why that was. But he'd know soon. It was only a matter of time before he knew everything about her. 


End file.
